Semantics
by TheAliensDidIt
Summary: Detailing the exploits of Bartimaeus of Uruk (i.e. moi), the Serpent of the Silver Plumes, N'gorso the Mighty, the Bane of Magicians, in great battles of wit and cunning... you'd best say your incantations correctly and pray your pentacle has no faults, for if there is one, I will find it.


Didn't even have the decency to start slowly, I thought darkly.

They never bothered with gradual summons to let you orient yourself. Oh nooo, they always hit you with a ton of bricks and drag your essence to Earth with tenterhooks. Rude folk, magicians are. They always assume we're floating around in the Other Place with nothing to do except wait for the summons.*

This summon was particularly aggressive and rather overzealous, if I do say so myself. It was not dissimilar to a bratty child who'd been promised a new toy, but still felt the need to make a big fuss out of it. To be fair, most magicians are bratty children after all.

For a few moments, the gravity of the Other Place anchored me against the words of power. I grabbed a wisp of cloud to buy myself a few seconds, absentmindedly creating a mental image of the magician who was summoning me. When a djinni is as old and wise as yours truly,* he can come up with an accurate representation of a magician just from the style of the summons alone.

Knowing your enemy, you see, is important for coming up with the perfect form. With a little bit of luck and careful planning, the right guise can scare or anger a magician... and when irritated, well, a magician's prone to making mistakes. And so I deduced, from the brattiness radiating through the threads dragging me to Earth, that this fellow was unpleasant and cocky, but had the skills to back it up. Middle-aged, well-learned, confident...

Ah, but I was only listing positive qualities. That won't do. And so I deduced further that my dear new master, while admittedly powerful, would also be prone to temper tantrums and easy to rile up with insults. He'd probably have a fancy little mustache and ruddy little cheeks that would light up in the most delightful manner with the insults I was already preparing... and he'd probably be fat too. Yes, fat.

With a sigh, I relinquished my hold on the cloud and was pulled to Earth. It had to happen sooner or later, for no amount of resistance could hold off a summon forever. But I resisted each summon anyway, for Bartimaeus of Uruk doesn't do obedient, no sir.

As my essence twisted and turned on its way down to Earth, I contemplated on what form to take. Obviously, my new master was experienced in the art of summoning and would not be put off by any amount of fangs or tentacles. I briefly considered appearing as a whirling vortex of sand but realized the complexity of that guise would be lost on him.* I finally settled on the age-old, universal weakness known to man.

A pretty young woman resembling Cleopatra, adorned in sheer Egyptian silk, materialized in the summoning pentacle. She sat cross-legged on the ground and stared calmly at the magician in front of her with piercing black eyes. I'd taken liberty with the guise and added a pair of black-rimmed spectacles. Men are suckers for intelligent women, I've learned.

The magician sat in the dead center of his pentacle. I noted with pride that my earlier predictions were right—he did have a lovely little mustache and ruddy little cheeks. Also, he was fat.

I looked disinterestedly at his pentacle, searching for any mistakes. It was highly unlikely, at this point, since it was clear he was used to this business.

"Demon," he rudely interrupted my musing, "by the constraints of these pentacles—"

The maiden cut him off, sighing melodically. "_Demon _is such an ugly word, my lord," she said, voice soft and clear as a running stream.

"Demon you are, wretch!" My master cried. "Demon and nothing more!"

Cleopatra lowered her head to hide the sly glint in her shapely eyes, for I'd noticed the way his eyes had lingered over my form regardless of his exclamation. "Very well, my lord. This demon is subject to your will. Name it, and it shall be done." I brought my eyes up just a hint and fluttered my eyelashes.

"I am about to marry," my master said, jowls quivering in excitement as he drew out a crumpled photograph of a generously-proportioned woman* from his shirt pocket. Here it comes, the command.

"I charge you, Bartimaeus, to"—Cleopatra shifted a bit, revealing more of her—ahem—assets as the Egyptian cloth slipped down further, and my master broke out in sweat before continuing—"lay out a trail of scattered rose petals leading to my beloved, to transform"—Cleopatra fixed the magician with a sultry stare, and he _almost _stuttered—"into a winged creature and fly me along this route, to deliver"—and finally, the maiden languorously stretched out her long legs, and my master squeaked before rallying impressively to finish his charge—"me to my beloved and sufficiently impress her to accept my proposal!"

I inwardly raged. I, the great Bartimaeus of Uruk, N'gorso the Mighty, Serpent of the Silver Plumes—reduced to this? The nerve! Outwardly, though, Cleopatra maintained her composure, nodding demurely as if this was an everyday task.

"You are dismissed, demon!" My master waved a hand, and I took my time about it, giving him a good view of my retreating backside. I felt his eyes on me and Cleopatra grinned, for I'd found a mistake in his charge, and I intended to use it.

The lucky soon-to-be-bride was soon located, the rose petals dutifully strewn. I returned to my master and Cleopatra transformed into a rosy-cheeked cherub with fluffy white wings. "Ready to go, master," the cherub sang.

He blanched. The jowls danced as if by their own will and the ruddy little cheeks flushed with color. It was quite a lovely sight. "You cannot take me to my beloved by... by that!"

I pouted. "You asked for a winged form, my lord, and I deliver."

"No! I want something that will inspire awe from my beloved!* This... thing will not do!"

In the blink of an eye, I became a flying gargoyle. "Better?"

"It is hideous!" My master screeched. "Do you toy with me, demon?"

I instinctively shifted back to Cleopatra, cowering in false terror in the pentacle as he opened his mouth to no doubt inflict punishment. "I do not toy, my lord!" The maiden's voice rose a few octaves in fright.

Almost against his will, my master's hand dropped and he closed his mouth. Scowling, he glared at Cleopatra, curled up on the floor. "Very well, then. Give me something impressive."

I shifted into a flaming red phoenix which crowed and took to the air in a burst of flames,* and I saw my master's eyes finally light up. He enthusiastically climbed on my back but kept slipping down due to his weight, and so I had to resort to carrying him with my claws instead. Despite that, I admit that we still made a splendid sight as we took to the skies and I flew him along the trail of rose petals.

The bride-to-be was waiting quite a ways down, but her awestruck expression was clearly visible. My master held his hands out to her and shouted, "There she is!"

Ah, love. We could not have that.

So I opened my claws and released him. His songs of love were cut off and transformed into a rather undignifying shriek, although I suppose if one was plummeting down to one's death, dignity is the last thing in mind.

He landed with a _splat _on the pavement, spraying his beloved with bits of... matter. Her face was stuck in abject horror, eyes and mouth wide open. I settled down beside her with considerably more grace than my master, turning back into Cleopatra. I curtsied to her as the bonds between master and djinni broke and the Other Place tugged at me.

"One husband-to-be," I managed to get in the last word, "delivered to his beloved, in a manner that will sufficiently impress her."

* * *

* Well, that _is _what we do on a daily basis, but they're not to know that.

* Of course, there are also djinn older than yours truly. Also more powerful, more renowned, etc. But in the departments of wit and charm, my dear, I do have them all beat.

* What is the expression you mortals use? "Pearls before swine," as they say?

* Predictably as corpulent as he.

* He really was starting to overuse the term 'my beloved.' And how one could love the bride-to-be, I wonder... although perhaps the similar fleshiness between the two could have something to do with it.

* An effect that did not reach its full potential because of the limited size of the room I was in. Why do I even bother?


End file.
